


I Hate Everything About You

by classynightmarestag



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Kinda, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Will's POV, hannibal is a smitten kitten, high!hannibal, high!will, not as angsty as the title suggests, obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-07 19:49:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10368138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/classynightmarestag/pseuds/classynightmarestag
Summary: Will is now on the other side of the veil with Hannibal. He's on the cusp of having it all, but will his conscience let him take it? Will must face what being with Hannibal truly entails. Can he survive, live, and thrive?Alternatively:The Adventures of Will and Hanners: Renegades(for any questions, see Styx)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I'm trying to keep the characters as in character as possible, but "in character" can be a little bit subjective. This is my interpretation of the characters and the events of the series. I'm sorry if it doesn't match yours. However, if there is a glaring mistake that can't be chalked up to interpretation (AKA I'm a moron and need to rewatch some things), please let me know!
> 
> Also: I'm open to constructive criticism, the operative word being _constructive_. Please, be respectful and remember I'm an actual real live human being reading your comments. That in mind, I would love to hear from all of you lovely ducklings out there :)

“Hannibal. No. Absolutely not,” Will said. The words had a ring of finality to them that no one but Hannibal Lecter would have been able to take in stride.

“You knew what you were signing up for, Will. Tell me, did you truly believe I would put the Chesapeake Ripper away, to never again see the light of day? You know who I am and yet here you are. Why is it that you are protesting? You don’t need to feign morality in my presence, dear Will. Is it that you are trying to convince yourself that the killer inside doesn’t exist? That he delights only in justice and not in the pure and honest brutality of taking a life?” Hannibal said all of this in a low whisper, the words meant for only Will’s ears. He continued, “Or is it that you are ashamed at your appreciation of such artwork? Would you have asked Brahms to stop composing or Caravaggio to never again put brush to canvas?” Sometimes Will forgot how deeply out of control Hannibal’s ego could be. He scoffed a little, and shifted the groceries he was carrying in his arms.

“You cannot kill someone just because they accidentally bumped into my shoulder. We’re supposed to be lying low.” Will sighed and ran a hand over his face. He was tired and he wanted to get away from the crowded sidewalk. Really, he just wanted to get back to the hotel and sleep for ten years. Was that so much to ask?

“I absolutely could. I could, right now, begin ripping apart everyone in the immediate vicinity. What you mean to say is that I shouldn’t.” Hannibal smirked a little. The bastard loved correcting people.

“Listen, I’m tired. Can’t we just get back to our room?” Will asked, trying very hard and only slightly failing to not sound whiny. Hannibal inclined his head and they headed off to their temporary home.

On the way there, Will let his thoughts wander. Hannibal, of course, had a point. Look at all the things Will had done. Look at what he’d been willing to do to Randall Tier. At the time Will had justified his actions by assuring himself that Randall Tier was a bad man and that it had been essential to gain Hannibal’s complete trust. In order to do that, he had to be completely and extravagantly convincing. Job well done, he’d told himself. Will would sometimes reflect on his arrangement of the body, his masterpiece, and then, when his thoughts grew too self-congratulatory, he’d quickly move on. He’d shove his pride down. Will never focused on how good killing made him feel; how good it had felt to make art out of death. He wouldn’t let himself focus on it. Not until Francis Dolarhyde anyway.

The way he’d felt dancing with Hannibal and the Dragon… that was something he couldn’t ignore no matter hard he tried. Will had never felt more alive, more macabrely graceful, than he had under the moonlight with Hannibal, watching and participating in the destruction of the Great Red Dragon. He’d meant what he said; it was beautiful. It was that particular revelation that had driven Will to throw himself and the devil off the cliff. In that moment, Will didn’t think he could live with what he was becoming, what Hannibal wanted him to become, and what he himself wanted to become. And yet, as Hannibal said, here he was. After they survived the fall, he hadn’t been obligated to abscond with Hannibal. The man he loathed and loved; the man he’d die for, kill, and kill for. And yet, here he was.

Maybe they had always been inevitable. Will had the sneaking suspicion that since the moment they met so many years ago in Jack Crawford’s office, their fates had been entwined, without either of them giving permission or being completely aware of it until they had become irrevocably one.

“Will? Will.” Hannibal sounded distant to Will’s ears. After he blinked a few times he realized they had made it to their room. Momentarily, Will entertained the idea of his encephalitis returning. When his brain had been on fire, he had frequently come out of his thoughts to find himself in a new space with no memory of how he got there. As the sickness worsened, he wouldn’t even have to be deep in thought. He’d just blink and be somewhere new. A shiver ran down his spine and he turned his attention to the man in front of him.

“Yes?” he replied.

“Where were you just now?” Hannibal sounded inquisitive and, almost, oddly deferential.

“I was giving consideration to recent events,” Will said, giving no indication as to how he was feeling about said recent events.

“Do you not want to be here with me?” Hannibal asked and his voice betrayed no emotion.

“What I want,” sighed Will, “is to take a nap. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight, but do you mind if I use the bed for now?” They had only just checked in this morning, so all of the issues surrounding who sleeps where had yet to be solved. Because of course Hannibal got them a room that had a kitchen, dining room, living room, two bathrooms, and, oh yeah, just one bed. Smooth, Hannibal, very smooth. _What an ingenious plan. Really, I’d almost think you manipulated every situation to your benefit and to the maximum discomfort of others all the time,_ thought Will with biting sarcasm.

“Of course not. Although I must insist that you use the bed tonight, as well,” intoned Hannibal. He had a certain mischievous gleam to his eye that only Will would have noticed. To say it unsettled him would be accurate. However, Hannibal wasn’t the only one feeling mischievous.

“I wouldn’t have you on the couch.”

“Wouldn’t you?” replied Hannibal suggestively. Will blushed a little at that.

“No, I wouldn’t. Not when there’s a perfectly good bed not ten feet away.” He said it as deadpan as he could, but Will could feel his flushed face betraying him. It was only a little, but he knew that Hannibal noticed. He couldn’t bring himself to feel truly embarrassed by what he’d just implied however. Not with Hannibal suddenly gazing at him like a starved man looking at a hot meal. Although, all things considered, that probably should have scared the shit out of him.

“I believe you were planning to take a nap. It will be in both our best interests for you to be rested before we decide how best to use the bed and the couch.” And now Will blushed in earnest, which Hannibal responded to by staring at him with even more intensity than before. A bit overwhelmed by the innuendo laced verbal tennis match he’d just partaken in, Will simply went into the bedroom and laid down on the queen-sized bed.

As he stared up at the ceiling, Will contemplated the shift in their relationship. They had been flirting with each other for years really. That wasn’t new. What was new was how blatant the flirting had become. It had also taken on an undeniably sexual edge. That’s not to say that there had never been sexual tension between them, because _that_ , thought Will, _would be the biggest lie this century._ It felt like they were both just being more honest about it all. Will shifted in the bed, moving farther down beneath the silky white covers. Will figured it was high time to be honest with himself. To be anything but would be entirely detrimental to his life now. He wanted Hannibal. In every way it was possible to want another human being. Contrarily, he also hated Hannibal. Will considered his hatred. Once he discerned Hannibal’s extra-curricular activities, contempt for Hannibal had become a constant passenger, just as his love for him was. The two managed to exist in his head simultaneously, but Will had only ever questioned the love he felt. He supposed he never felt the need to delve into the reasons for his hatred. Almost anyone could come up with good reasons to hate Hannibal Lecter. He was a fucking sadistic and cannibalistic serial killer for Christ’s sake.

However, now that Will was on the run with him, he decided that he couldn’t truly be all that bothered by what Hannibal got up to. Otherwise he would have made sure that Hannibal was sent back to the BSHCI. He certainly wouldn’t have tended to his wounds and then skipped off into the sunset with him, a future of killing and cannibalizing clearly on the horizon. No, that wasn’t why he hated Hannibal. He didn’t even really hate him for all the times Hannibal had tried to kill him. Shit, Will had attempted to kill Hannibal just as many times. Will still resented him for what he did to Abigail. _That_ he could count as part of the hatred, but not all of it. Will hated Hannibal for the truths he had made Will come face to face with about himself. Without Hannibal, Will was certain he never would have killed anybody (save Garret Jacob Hobbs) and he absolutely never would have turned anyone into the kind of gruesome tableaus he had turned Randall Tier and Chiyoh’s prisoner into. Will never would have found out how much he enjoyed it all. That last thought made Will sick to his stomach. He rolled over in bed and buried his face in the pillows.

Will felt relieved to have finally given a face to his hatred for Hannibal. He decided being self-aware was of the utmost importance when running with someone who had the tendency and the ability to learn a person’s deepest darkest secrets. Secrets that person may not even be aware they have. As long as he was being self-aware, he figured he might as well consider his love for Hannibal, too. Will had only ever picked apart everything that was wrong with it. He had never allowed himself to analyze why he felt the love in the first place.

Will decided it was difficult not to love the only person on the whole planet who saw you for what you really were and accepted you. Hannibal could see through to parts of Will that Will had hidden from even himself. Still, Hannibal not only accepted those parts of Will, but loved them. He loved all of Will. To be the recipient of such emotions, especially from a person as cold as Hannibal, would, Will thought, be irresistible to nearly anybody.

Around Hannibal, Will was free to be himself completely. Even with Molly, he’d had to hide fundamental parts of his personality. They had been married, technically still were, and even she never really knew him; never really saw him. With Hannibal he could discuss his work without having to always throw in the mandatory _“it was awful”_ and _“I feel terrible”_. He never had to reign himself in. Will could give voice to his darkest thoughts and be met not with shock, but with a witty and insightful rejoinder. It was liberating.

And of course, there were the cheekbones. Will seriously wanted to lick those cheekbones. That was the last thought he had before he drifted off to sleep, and it left him with a small, amused smile playing across his lips.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, darling ducklings! Thanks to everyone who has subscribed, bookmarked, and left kudos! It means so much to me that there are people, however few, that are interested in what I'm writing.
> 
> I want to let you know that I talk a little bit about the book Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsey in this chapter. If you're totally unfamiliar with Dexter Morgan, never fear! You'll still understand what's going on just fine. Also, I've never been to the Hilton in Berlin, so there is a 99.9% chance that there isn't a single room there that looks anything like what I describe. But look up pictures of the outside! It's beautiful :)
> 
> Also if you're interested, my tumblr is classynightmarestag. I'll be posting about updates to this story there.
> 
> Okay, I'm done rambling. Enjoy!

“Only when I start to think about it,  
I hate everything about you  
Why do I love you?”  
-Three Days Grace

When Will woke up, it was to the tantalizing smell of oranges and cooking meat and the soft, almost musical sounds of pots and pans occasionally bumping into each other. With a luxurious stretch and a muffled yawn, Will dragged himself off the bed. In and of itself it was a spectacular feat. The bed was sinfully comfortable and now it was warm from Will’s sleeping body. He realized with no small amount of wonder that he hadn’t had any nightmares. He’d slept soundly for… well… according to his phone about three hours. That was almost like getting a full night’s rest for Will.

Barefoot, Will crept from the bedroom, through the living room, and up to where the dining room and kitchen were split by an island. The dining room was on the left and it had a four-person table with some abstract, extremely hotel-esque art on the wall. Apparently even the suites in Hilton hotels weren’t immune. To the right of the island was the kitchen. It was small, or would have been considered small if it were in a person’s house. It had a stainless steel fridge, an oven, a microwave, and an induction cooktop. The counters were as black as a moonless night with little specks of silver splashed throughout like galaxies. Hannibal had wanted to stay somewhere nicer, but Will argued Hilton’s were more than nice enough (they were 5 star hotels for God’s sake, how much nicer did it get?) and there was still an active manhunt. Of course, Hannibal had countered, that was in the United States. They were in Berlin, Germany. Will had insisted that they were better off safe than sorry. Everyone knew about Hannibal’s proclivity for opulence. Will felt like staying where they were was still dangerously lavish, but it was as far down as Hannibal was willing to be talked. _Lord have mercy on me_ , thought Will.

“Did you rest well?” asked Hannibal as he stirred something in a saucepan. 

“Surprisingly well.” Will’s voice still had a rough edge to it from sleep.

“I’m glad to hear it. Dinner will be ready in half an hour.” 

“Do you need any help?” Will asked, knowing the answer.

“No, thank you, Will.” 

Will propped himself up on one of the three stools that sat on the dining room side of the island. He loved watching Hannibal cook. The man was always completely engrossed in it and clearly enjoyed himself immensely. It was always a wonder to Will that Hannibal stayed so clean while he cooked. There would be no stray puffs of flour; nothing ever sprayed or splashed or did anything it wasn’t supposed to. Will was positive Hannibal only wore an apron for show. 

Watching Hannibal cook was like watching a dancer perform. It was impressive and sensual. Each movement was understated, elegant, and concise, yet appeared as thoughtless and natural as breathing. The way the contents of one pan were tended to before moving immediately to tend to another gave the scene an air of having been choreographed. Stir this, then flip that, now add something there, and turn the heat down here. A dancer performing, indeed. Hannibal never missed a step.

 _I wonder who we’re eating today_ , Will thought, jarring himself out of his admiration. They hadn’t stopped at a butcher’s while they were out. When would Hannibal have had time to procure someone though? While Will had been asleep? He’d only been out three hours. Who the fuck knew. This was the ever resourceful Hannibal Lecter he was talking about. To his dismay, Will found that it didn’t really matter all that much. He’d eaten so many people already. Granted, it was mostly unwittingly. But that was the kicker wasn’t it? _Mostly._ Will had himself killed a man and then brought the meat to Hannibal for them to prepare together. _I made my choice,_ Will told himself, _when I ran away with him. I knew what all it entailed, and yet, here I am. There’s no turning back now._

Of course, it was one thing to think the words. It was another entirely to put them to use. While Will knew he wasn’t wrong, it didn’t assuage his guilt over not feeling guilty. _Jesus, I’m a train wreck,_ Will all but wailed in his head. 

Suddenly, a timer sounded. “Please, Will, have a seat at the table, and I’ll be over in a few moments,” ordered Hannibal, successfully pulling Will out of the hell that was currently his mind.

Will took a breath and turned his thoughts elsewhere. As he sat down, he took in the table setting. It was nowhere near Hannibal’s usual standards, but it was elegant nonetheless. They’d been on the lam for all of two weeks, every moment of their time up until now spent getting out of the country and trying their damnedest not keel over from their wounds. The first day had been the toughest. Once they had finally flopped onto shore after who knows how long in the icy water, there had been an impromptu surgery session in a vacant animal hospital. Remaining awake and unimpaired by pain medication for the process, Hannibal had instructed Will on how to put him back together. He’d been very lucky, the bullet only tearing through muscle and narrowly missing entering the abdominal cavity. After Will had put the last stitches in place and bandaged the wound, it was his turn. Hannibal cleaned and stitched his face and shoulder. Battle wounds tended to, they took what medical supplies they needed from the building and they ran. They ran and ran and now here they were, finally finding some much needed respite. Will’s face and shoulder were still killing him and he imagined the pain Hannibal was in was bordering on excruciating. He didn’t often show it, but Will knew he must be in agony. Despite all of this, Hannibal had managed to get a crystal vase (Swarovski, by the looks of it, but Will really had no clue) and fill it with black roses and small bird skulls. There were two tall, white candles on either side of the vase. Wine glasses had been set out, along with the silverware and the cotton napkins. 

“Duck a L’orange,” Hannibal announced making his way over with two plates “served with orange scented sugar snap peas and pinot noir.” After he deposited the plates, he filled the wine glasses. As Hannibal carefully sat down, Will took a moment to appreciate the dish in front of him. Thick slices of duck were arranged in a fan around the plate, with slivers of orange nestled in between each piece. The sugar snap peas made a ring around the duck and a deep orange sauce had been drizzled across the entire plate.

“Thanks. It looks delicious,” said Will, sincerely. He put a piece of the duck in his mouth. Even to his own ears the noise that escaped him sounded obscene, but there was no helping it. The meal would have been sublime anyway, and after two weeks without time for much more than sandwiches -artisan upon Hannibal's insistence, but still- it was like manna from Heaven. Slightly regaining control over his vocalizations, Will only moaned a little at the next bite. 

Heaving a worshipful sigh, he breathed “This is fantastic.” Will glanced up, planning to make brief eye contact with Hannibal and stopped short. Hannibal was gazing at him with thinly veiled lust. He met Will’s wide-eyed stare with the most sensual look he had ever seen. Will’s breath caught in his throat. He got the distinct impression Hannibal was currently fantasizing about all the ways he could elicit those salacious sounds from him again.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Hannibal said, his tone not completely unaffected by his day-dream. However, he visibly tucked away his racier thoughts, and carried on eating. Will could almost see a _to be continued_ label stamped on them.

Will squirmed in his seat, but followed Hannibal’s lead. They ate the rest of their dinner in relatively comfortable silence. Once they were done, they took their plates to the sink. Hannibal washed while Will dried. Finished with the clean-up, Hannibal and Will took their wine with them and sat down on opposite ends of the couch in the living room. Hannibal fished out some coasters and Will put his wine down on the glass coffee table in front of them.

Will picked up the book he’d bought while they were out. _Darkly Dreaming Dexter_. Beverly had recommended it to him years ago, and now it looked like he would have nothing but time to read it. Thinking of Beverly sent a sharp pang of guilt through him. Will felt like he’d killed her himself. He might as well have. And yet, despite feeling culpable, here he was. Sitting beside her executioner. Running with him, flirting with him, dining with him, slaying dragons with him.

Will smacked down his rising conscience and began the book. He wondered, as he was reading, how many people had searched, read between the lines, and scoured for subtext, at an attempt to humanize Dexter. To prove that he had at least some empathy. Will wondered if he had done the same with Hannibal. 

Will thought people probably cited Dexter’s vigilantism as proof of his empathy, missing the real reason Dexter targeted murderers. It wasn’t because they were hurting people, it was because no one would miss them. What Dexter Morgan had was a compulsion to kill, not a crippling need for justice. If he hadn’t been indoctrinated with the Code of Harry, he wouldn’t be a vigilante but he would still be a serial killer. 

Unlike Dexter, Hannibal’s killing wasn’t a compulsion. It was a hobby, a pastime. That didn’t seem quite right though. Golf was a pastime. What Hannibal did was transcendent. He elevated death to evocative art. Maybe labelling it a passion would be more apt. 

If Will requested that the people they would inevitably eliminate together be only killers, would Hannibal acquiesce? Half-jokingly, Will considered that they could target specifically the rude killers. Hannibal and Will would both have to be a bit malleable in order to coexist, it seemed. Would their lives from this point on be all compromise? _Could_ Hannibal compromise? Could _Will_ compromise? They had both changed so much already, maybe showing some flexibility in the future wouldn’t be so painful.

Out of nowhere, Hannibal made a quiet noise that was equal parts frustration and amusement. Will was shocked to realize that at some point while he’d been reading and thinking, he’d stretched out across the couch and put his feet in Hannibal’s lap. Hannibal had draped his left arm across Will’s shins. In his right hand, he was holding a tablet. Will was sort of embarrassed, but not nearly enough to move away from Hannibal. He was so comfy.

“What is it?” asked Will, curiosity piqued. 

“Freddie Lounds, I’m afraid.”

Will sighed. “What’s she written now?”

“She seems to be under the impression that you and I are having a torrid love affair whilst on the run from the law. She refers to us as ‘the Bonnie and Clyde of serial killing’,” Hannibal gave a short laugh and continued. “Apparently several people have put bounties out for us or, if we didn’t survive the fall from the cliff, our bodies. We’re quite sensational right now.”

Will just shook his head. Freddie Lounds had been a thorn in his side for seven years. Also, Will was starting to think she had some sort of fetish about him and Hannibal being ‘murder husbands’. Will plucked his glass of wine off the coffee table and took a slow sip.

“Did she say anything about where she thinks we are?”

“She speculates, nothing more.”

“Well, as long as she doesn’t speculate too close to the truth.”

“She doesn’t. Ms. Lounds says there have been ‘unconfirmed sightings’ of us all around the globe. Unless I’m much mistaken, we weren’t in Malaysia yesterday or San Francisco last week. Allow yourself to relax, Will.” The corner of Hannibal’s mouth twitched up a little. He slid his free hand down Will’s leg and began to lightly massage one of his feet.

“I can’t. You’re the FBI’s most wanted, Hannibal. We’re all over the news all the time right now. Until the media frenzy dies down, I’m going to be wound tight.” Will pinched the bridge of his nose, acutely aware of the contact between himself and Hannibal.

Putting his tablet down, Hannibal said, “You’re not alone in dealing with this. I’m with you, Will. And luckily for both of us, I’m very good at not getting caught. There’s no need to be so anxious.” Hannibal was doing his best to soothe Will. For a moment, he felt a little warm and fuzzy. Then, like a switch inside him had flipped, he was pissed off. _No need to be so anxious,_ Will repeated viciously in his head, _good at not getting caught._ His mind was alive, buzzing with a billion cutting replies, mostly along the lines of _‘is that why we were tortured by Mason Verger?’_. Ultimately, he decided to hold his tongue. He nearly choked on his rage in an attempt to swallow it, but he finally washed it down with some wine. Hannibal was making an honest attempt at easing Will’s fears. There was no reason to punish him for it.

Will sensed that this night was setting a precedence for many nights to come. Sure, they’d been running together for a couple of weeks, but this was the first time they’d had nothing better to do than to lounge around and read. Everything until now had been centered around surviving and ensuring their future survival. Everything from this point on would shape their domestic lives.

 _Their domestic lives_. Will felt like he’d been hit by a train. He realized he’d never questioned whether or not they would live together once everything settled down. He hadn’t really consciously thought about it; it had just been a given in his mind. Will knew Hannibal was in love with him. Will knew, as conflicted about it as he was, that he was in love with Hannibal. That didn’t make them married (sorry, Freddie). 

Where was all of this headed? Where did Will want it to head? If they did move in together, what would a domestic Hannibal be like? Would there be breakfast in bed, or would they always eat at the dining room table? Would they have dogs? Would they share casual touches and affectionate caresses? Would they resolve disagreements civilly or would there be bloodshed? Would Hannibal kill him if he ever tried to leave? Will didn’t think he wanted to know, but suspected he had the unfortunate answer anyway. Will sighed aloud. Right now, he didn’t want to think about any of it. He just wanted to be here, on the couch, with his… what? Friend? His nakama? What title did he give Hannibal? Friend was too conventional, too trite, too platonic of a word to encompass everything Hannibal was to him. Still, he didn’t yet have the right to call him anything more than that. And _God_ did he want to be able to call Hannibal more than a friend. Will’s head was beginning to throb. Wishing for some aspirin, he took a long drink of wine. He was halfway through his third glass. 

Inhibitions lowered, Will looked at Hannibal, who was smiling slightly, and still massaging his feet. Will thought about how nice it would be to lay down and replace his feet with his head on Hannibal’s lap. Even through the turmoil of his thoughts, Will found himself irresistibly drawn to Hannibal, seeking comfort in him. With no wine in him, it would have been an inviting but mortifying idea. With two and a half glasses in him, the idea was intoxicating but only infinitesimally less mortifying. Will searched for a dignified way to ask for what he wanted. It seemed, verbally, it didn’t exist. The coward’s way it was.

First, he set the wine back on the coffee table. Will needed both his hands for his little charade. This was going to be pretty easy. It wasn’t really acting so much as allowing a physical response to his pain. Will felt like somebody had knocked him over the head with a brick. He screwed up his face and brought his hands up to claw and push at his temples. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, which made Hannibal grip his foot a little tighter. Will pinched his eyes shut and let out a quiet huff. He felt magnificently ridiculous, but if this ended how he wanted it to, then who cared?

A hand wrapped around Will’s wrist and tugged. He opened his eyes to see Hannibal looking at him with knowing amusement and open affection. Will let himself be pulled forward and twisted around until he was in the position he had imagined. His head was in Hannibal’s lap and Hannibal’s fingers were tangled in his hair, pushing and prodding at his scalp. Will’s eyes slipped shut again and he almost purred in satisfaction.

“Good Will, when there’s something you want, you need only take it. There is hardly anything I would deny you,” Hannibal murmured tenderly. 

“Is that so?” Will replied playfully. Hannibal’s hands were working magic. His head no longer felt like he’d been hit with a brick, maybe just a fly swatter.

“It is,” breathed Hannibal with unadulterated sincerity. Will’s eyes flicked open and he peered up at Hannibal to see Hannibal gazing besotted down at him. His dark brown eyes looked like melted chocolate, his hands felt like heaven, and Will was hopelessly consumed by the desire to kiss him. Letting go of his prior concerns regarding their future together, kiss him, he did. 

Will reached a shaky hand up and slid his fingers through Hannibal’s straight, short bangs and brushed them to the side. Tentatively, he slipped his hand to the back of Hannibal’s head, stroking his thumb against Hannibal’s cheek on the way, and softly urged him downward. He pulled, and Hannibal let him, until their lips met in a slow and gentle embrace.

Hannibal took a hand from Will’s hair and leisurely ghosted it down Will’s body until it came to rest on his hip. Will felt more than heard Hannibal’s breath hitch a little in what could only be interpreted as pain. _Shit!_ Will had forgotten Hannibal’s stomach. Leaning over like that would have to be uncomfortable to say the least, but Hannibal hadn’t complained at all. He just kept on kissing Will, more concerned with their closeness than his own injury, Will realized, feeling his heart melt. Keeping their mouths firmly together, Will sat up until he had the leverage he needed to guide Hannibal back on the couch until he was lying down. He let some of his weight rest on the man beneath him, but not enough to cause him any discomfort. Will wanted to be as close to Hannibal as was possible. He wanted to crawl inside of him so deep that he could never find a way out.

The first brush of their lips had opened up a well in Will that he hadn’t known existed until the precise moment he became aware of its existence. Will felt starved for Hannibal. Years of separation rained down on him without mercy, crushing him. He felt like he was dangling above a bottomless chasm and Hannibal was his rope. If he let go for a second, he would be lost to the bleak nothingness forever.

Hannibal’s thoughts seemed to have taken a similar turn. He was sliding his hands up and down Will’s back, clawing and grasping at the fabric of his shirt. Unhurried but deliberate, Hannibal trailed a hand up Will’s spine and into his thick, curly hair. He tightened his grip and pulled, tipping Will’s head back enough to give him open access to his mouth. Will moaned as Hannibal pushed his tongue inside, worshiping every inch of the space, mapping it out, committing it to memory.

Will responded in kind by gliding his tongue along Hannibal’s back and forth, savoring the smooth, slippery wetness. Gasping for breath, Will kissed the corner of Hannibal’s mouth and then moved to nuzzle his nose just beneath Hannibal’s ear. Will kissed his jaw and, emboldened by alcohol and desire, bit it lightly. Hannibal made a dark sound deep in his throat and turned his head to reclaim Will’s mouth. 

Will could feel the stitches in his face pulling, threatening to tear. It was deliciously agonizing. Every sharp twinge of pain contrasted and heightened the pleasure in a way that had Will pressing his hips down into Hannibal. How suited they were for this: the sadist and the masochist. 

Will threaded his fingers through Hannibal’s hair, stoking, caressing, adoring. He never wanted this to end. It was everything he had always dreaded that he wanted. It was everything he feared and craved. If Will could think straight right now, he’d probably be disgusted with himself. Will was getting into bed, so to speak, with the devil and he couldn’t find it in him to care. All he could feel was Hannibal. Under him, but all around. He could feel every touch down to the marrow in his bones. It was all consuming, blotting out nearly all lucid thought. _Nearly._ As Will felt his way along the muscle in Hannibal’s arm, he thought vaguely about how that muscle had built up. He shuddered lightly with what he hoped, but highly doubted, was revulsion. Unbidden, a disfigured pitch black something inside of him, adorned with antlers and feathers, reared its ugly head. It slithered up. It whispered in his ear. Its words grated and slashed without mercy. _Isn’t what he is part of the attraction? Doesn’t it turn you on, Will? You like it, don’t you? You can pretend to the world, but not to me. I know you, Will. I know what you want and I know what you are._

Will didn’t want it to be true, he wanted to deny everything, scream his refutations to the heavens, but he couldn’t. He didn’t have the energy. Besides that, there were far more pressing matters at hand. Like Hannibal’s mouth on his, persistent and expert. His cheek and shoulder throbbed and somehow that felt necessary. Will couldn’t separate pain and pleasure, not when it came to Hannibal. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to, either.

However, he was only a masochist to an extent. Will’s face was beginning to scream and his shoulder was crying for him to stop, to engage in an activity less physically demanding. As much as he needed to stop, he couldn’t quite bring himself to. Not with Hannibal’s gasps and quiet moans falling on his ears like a symphony. They spurred him on and on. It would have been a crime to bring those gorgeous, erotic sounds to an unceremonious end. Will kept going even when his own gasps turned into near silent yelps. 

Hannibal sighed and put a hand on the uninjured side of Will’s face. His thumb stroked along the cheekbone. Will whined a little when Hannibal pulled back from him. “Neither of us is in a fit state for this,” Hannibal whispered.

“Is that your professional opinion, Doctor Lecter?” sassed Will as defense against the admittedly irrational jolt of hurt that hit him like a slap in the face.

“Yes,” replied Hannibal with a heavy note of regret in his voice. In his eyes was a combination of apology and arousal. Hannibal looked like it was taking every last ounce of his ironclad self-control not to flip them over and finish what Will had started. “We are overdue for our pain medication. Would you like to retrieve it, or shall I?”

“I’ll get it,” grumbled Will, trying desperately not to mope. He rolled off of Hannibal and stood up, intending to go get the Dilaudid. Blushing furiously, he immediately sat back down on the edge of the couch. Will was going to need a few minutes before he could be up and walking around. He was in a state, to put it mildly.

Will turned his head and peeked over at Hannibal. He was watching Will with the same self-satisfied expression he sported after he made one of his god-awful, but bizarrely funny, _look-at-me-I’m-a-stand-up-cannibal-comedian_ inside jokes. Will just rolled his eyes in a long-suffering _this idiot_ sort of way.

Eventually, his state subsided enough that he could get up without too much discomfort. He went and got the pills and two glasses of water. When he returned to the couch, Hannibal was sitting up and was relaxed into the cushions like he was sitting on a throne. Even with mussed hair and a somehow only minutely disheveled suit, he looked regal. Will gave him his water and pill. Hannibal accepted them with a polite 'thank you'.

As Will swallowed his, he thought about all the wine he had consumed. _Don’t try this at home, kids. If you mix your drugs and your booze, Mommy and Daddy will send you to bed without any supper._ He had to stifle the absurd laughter that bubbled up in him, fighting valiantly to force its way out. Hannibal shot him a questioning look and Will shook his head.

Despite his nap, Will felt exhausted. The sun had gone down a long while ago. Will checked his watch and found to his surprise that it was 1:27 in the morning. He wanted to go bed. Really, he was starting to get so loopy and weird from the Dilaudid and the wine, he felt like if he didn't get to sleep soon he'd have no control over what came out of his mouth. Will hated being out of control like this. He almost preferred the agony. Almost. He swore to himself that he'd drink water all day tomorrow. No wine, no whiskey, no alcohol period. Will wasn't suicidal. He hadn't been since he and Hannibal had survived the fall. He couldn't avoid the pain meds, but he could make sure he didn't get as stoned as he was now.

Will thought back to earlier today, before his nap, when he and Hannibal had that disorienting discussion about couches and beds and how to use them. How did their recent activities change that? How weird would it be to ask? Did they share the bed? That’s obviously what Hannibal had in mind when he booked this room. Cocky son of a bitch. Not that Will was really complaining all that much. Hannibal would be warm and solid. Will suspected Hannibal would feel like home and security. 

Now that made Will want to bang his head against a wall. Who the fuck feels secure sleeping in the same bed as a cannibal, a serial killer, much less one that had attempted to kill them? Apparently the same person who would run away and engage in a heated make-out session with him. _What kind of crazy?_ Jack’s voice rang through Will’s head. Hysteria was beginning to creep in on him. This is why he didn’t do drugs when he didn’t have to. 

Will took in a calming breath and held it for a moment before gradually letting it out. He looked over at Hannibal and saw how his eyes were glazed from the drug. Hannibal gave Will the same look he always did when he was dopey from the pills. It was an unguarded, sleepy, love-struck grin. Will expected it now after two weeks and had grown fond of it. It warmed him from the inside out, it dispelled his fears and anxiety. 

Will reached out and took Hannibal’s hand in his. He tangled their fingers together and met Hannibal’s eyes with a soft smile. “Let’s go to bed,” Will mumbled. He stood up and pulled Hannibal with him toward the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah! If you were expecting porn (you delightful, depraved ingrates), I'm sorry! I just didn't really want the first time Will and Hanners kiss to also be the first time they have sex. Besides, it's only been two weeks since they were beat to hell. So there's that. 
> 
> Also, please, for the love of God, never ever ever ever mix Dilaudid and alcohol. There's a super good chance you will die.
> 
> By the way, I swear that there is an actual plot. I'm building up to it. This is going to be fairly lengthy, so settle in and (hopefully) enjoy the ride :) I'll try to post updates once a week, around this time. Like I said before, I'll keep everyone in the loop through tumblr.
> 
> Have a great week!


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